Retracing the Shorelines
by Night Strider
Summary: AU. A desperate fight against the power of memory sends Rukawa to a dilemma that, even fifteen years later, would force him to alter his course in life. Full summary inside. MitRuMit, SenRuSen. On-going.
1. Chapter 1

Retracing the Shorelines

Disclaimer: I don't own SD boys, Inoue does. The events that follow are not included in the original plot but enjoy anyway.

Summary: AU. When Rukawa Kaede enters Kanagawa High, a prestigious institution for boys, his only dream was to possess a life of his own. Then he meets and unexpectedly befriends the eccentric and charming Mitsui Hisashi, and his world shifts, complicates, and swings out of its orbit. It would be too late when he realizes that neither Mitsui, nor Mitsui's best friend Sendoh Akira, could save him. MitRuMit, SenRuSen. On-going.

Note: This fic was written on crack. Trust me. I'm not sure if you'd buy the whole concept of an improvised context, but this is just as creative as I could get. It's loosely based on Evelyn Waugh's Brideshead Revisited, which is the best novel I've read this year. Though this cannot possibly inherit Waugh's brilliance, which is my only warning, in which case do see through the idiocy of the characterization and focus on the plot instead. I'd be very glad if you do. That's all.

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**Prologue: These Ghosts**

If words were to be revived the moment they die in my throat, even I wouldn't be able to tell if they really came from me. I got too accustomed to not thinking prior to doing things that at times it makes me wonder if the art of decision-making has any hand in any of my successes. At this stage, I'd still tell anyone who bothers to ask that luck never quite left my side, and believe it myself with all the contents of my adult heart.

For the same reason, I'm strolling on these grounds whose last glimpse at the sunlight seemed to have been marked at a decade ago at the very least. The soil cakes around my soles with each step I take, producing a squeezing sound that pretty much resembles the squeak of a piece of rubber skidding on a glass pane. I trod the cobbled steps toward the second building from the north, or what used to be the second building, the first one having been effaced from the map two days back. The multi-million dollar cranes, bulldozers, and manpower that had been responsible for such a large-scale destruction still rest around the vicinity, guilt-free. What was left of the walls, the blocks that used to build it, are rubbles, dust-ridden rubbles whose forms would henceforward remain as indistinct as the materials that make up the earth, until they crumble to nothing.

"Architect Rukawa, the room on the third floor would serve as our quarters for the time being. The men have set up the necessities and the instructions you'd be needing for the demolition of the old cafeteria are kept inside one of the bureaus. Shigeru will take care of the rest."

"Thank you. I'll be on my way."

"Yes, and there's coffee at the pantry, sir. It's already about lunchtime so the workers might be joining us."

"Maybe later. Thanks again."

Declining, I continued my way inside the building. The double doors have been removed to facilitate the mobilization of things, the window glasses have all been taken off as well to be delivered to some recycling house a few miles into civilization. But even with these considerations, little light is permitted to enter the desolate expanse. The structure is practically empty inside out; the walls are peeled, the chandeliers perhaps stolen, and the furniture… who knows about the destiny of those poor things? The entrance opens into a hall, where in the center a wide staircase is spread. The whole scenery gives off an air of a former, long-lost or otherwise abandoned grandeur. Life has taken flight from this place a long time ago, I could tell. I climbed the stairs and wended my way to the newly assigned "quarters". Far off the distance, labor seems to have ceased altogether, coveted by merry laughter which indicates break time. Indeed.

I came face to face with our quarters' door. On it, a makeshift sign that reads "Arch. Rukawa Kaede" hangs sloppily, covering a rectangular steel-plate that bears the name of the rightful owner of the office. I didn't bother looking at it. The door creaks open before I get to twist the doorknob.

"Architect Rukawa! You gave me a fright." My secretary, Mimasaka Shigeru, gasped, blushing.

"That's my line." I said; she frowned. "Anyway, are my things all in there?"

"Yes. Why don't you take a peek, sir? I was just about to dash outside and search for you. I figured you might've wanted to take a look around the place before you, er, completely blow it up."

"You guessed right."

She held the door open for me. Inside, a barren, 20 by 25 quadrangle greeted me. This, alone of all the rooms I have surveyed on these grounds, does not reek of vandalism. An old-fashioned mahogany desk stands at the far end, replete with a recently dusted lazy boy, a master's chair, few pieces of old potteries, and an emptied book shelf. The yellowed walls that used to carry magnificent paintings are spotted, irregularly brushed, in total contrast to the blackened floor stained by shoeprints of all shapes, sizes, and colors constantly coming in and out of the room. So many people used to be here; even a million strokes of the mop can never conceal that fact. I drew closer to my main workplace: The desk, the extravagantly majestic desk. It might've belonged to a king before, who got tired of it, decided to donate it to whatever institution this place was for, and forgot about it soon as he got a flashier one. Probably ivory. It sits here now, without the prospect of a more affectionate treatment after years of uncomplaining service, doomed to be unrewarded just the same. I almost laughed at myself for all these thoughts.

Back in the real world, Shigeru has apparently done a fine job of lining up all the papers I need in correct order. Something caught my eye just then.

"I couldn't find anything decent for a paperweight, so I just picked up that old rusty thing from the drawer and thought it quite perfect for the purpose." Shigeru explained.

I held the "paperweight" to my eye level, gradually twisting it around as if to study its features. It's a tiny trophy that has lost its glitter through harsh and barren weather, through abandonment. Amidst the rust, some of the golden spots linger, emitting a rank iron-like odor, its details nearly entirely erased. If one looks closely, he would see a sketched-out date on it: fifteen years ago. I wrinkled my forehead, unmoving. A sudden melancholy pang coursed through my system as the wind around me suddenly chilled. Shigeru went on.

"It's a rather uninteresting prospect for an archeologist. More than ten years ago some group of guys won an inter-dormitory competition and got this for a prize. Some guy, maybe he's the head of the dorm, kept it as a memento. It might've been sitting in its cage ever since, never displayed."

"Perhaps." I replied. I stood stock-still, my breath shallow, only vaguely catching the environment that a while ago just seemed to absorb my undivided attention. Lost years that didn't seem to occupy any space in my memory begin to wheel in, leaving me vulnerable to unpleasant, sublime recollections. I clung even more tightly to the trophy.

"Well…" Shigeru forced what must be a vain effort to further fill me in about the history of the piece. I didn't need to stare at her twice to tell that she found it quite strange that I should take an interest in such a tiny, inconsequential thing. "It actually says there that Shohoku Dormitory became champions of that contest about fifteen years ago. Judging from some of the papers here that were left by the former occupant, their prefect was--"

"Akagi. Akagi Takenori." I finished the sentence for her. She looked at me with an even more puzzled expression.

Our prefect was Akagi Takenori and he used to take up this room as his office. This place, Kanagawa School for Boys, would constitute an entire lifetime of happiness and disgrace, pain and glory, decadence and victory … and this room was where Akagi realized that I pretty much spelled trouble at first sight. I was taken in as a member of the Shohoku Dormitory in spite of just barely cutting through the initiation rites. Akagi right away sniffed that I wouldn't count for much, either as an asset or a functionary, but he let me through all the same. Whether it was pity, consideration, or disgust, I didn't learn what his reasons or motives were, their nature and their cause. All I understood is that, I'd be relatively freer to take the reins from then on and run my own life, away from the family that was never really there, away from a world that never received anything from me but scorn itself. I found a new home in this place in a manner of speaking, a form of independence that would become too much for me to handle with any grace. It would be much, much later when I realized that I owed Akagi-sempai a lot.

I look around me once again, as if to view the same things with a different pair of eyeglasses this time around. The barrenness departs from the place and a new light, fresh and alive, casts itself on the dreary clutter. Outside, the sky takes on a new identity; the winds hum with a far finer melody than before, echoing, it seems, from my younger eras. These buildings I'm tearing down suddenly reintroduce themselves to me, each of them notably familiar, beautiful in its own right, immune to calamities, bound to withstand changes, to remain forever, and haunt me ultimately, mercilessly. And this one, the Shohoku Dormitory, lashes vengefully at me as it stands more relentlessly solid than the rest, most eager in throwing back the past to me as though it no longer has anything to do with it.

Those years were long eaten by the incoming ones to never leave any mark of their darkness and joy until I came to stand here now. Up to then I never realized that when it really comes down to it, there's no swimming against this deluge. Kanagawa High embodies my adolescence and would go on to shape me, raise me, chase me to each corner of my personhood. I am Kanagawa High; destroying it with my hammers and trucks, or shattering its foundations with my giant spades, would never do to prevent these memories and defend me from the ache of old scars.

"Shigeru, I know this place. It used to be called Kanagawa School for Boys, and it taught me everything." I said quietly after a long and awkward spell.

Time has arrived for me to come back here, after all.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Retracing the Shorelines

Disclaimer: I don't own SD boys, Inoue does. The events that follow are not included in the original plot but enjoy anyway.

A/N: Gah. Long chapter. I've been inspired by John Irving (just finished his The World According to Garp), to put it crudely, and am still in the process of recovering from his brilliance. This might as well be the mediocre upshot of that. Whatever. It's in your discretion to still go on reading. You might find that this is not as eventful as you'd wish, in which case, do bear with me. Again. I'm not very ecstatic about the outcome and I wouldn't mind if you go thinking likewise. There might be typos sprawled all over this because too, as usual, there's no one here to edit this shit. I don't know how much else is wrong and I'd be very happy if you point them out. Next chapter is well underway, yeah. I have some idea in mind, which has been lying like some deadweight inside my head. Not sure if I'm ever up to any good, even then. Haha.

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**Chapter I: Insubordination**

Temptation was as far as it could get from my mind before I beheld these grounds. What with a sheltered existence, there wasn't much going on with me but obedience and what my family would insist on calling excellence. At sixteen, nobody expects you to go far, or otherwise wander away from what you're slated to be doing, until that one changing current that would redefine your lifelong perspectives comes and shatters your old, silly beliefs. That current would come in the form of Kanagawa School for Boys for me, forcing me to realize that in fact there was nothing more important to me than freedom, to wrest myself from the clutches of familial slimes that had ever since insisted to boss me around like a true possessive god. Temptation consequently roused itself from sleep and would guide me all throughout that period when I was in Kanagawa. So when my parents decided to send me to this all-boys dormitory, precious little words could begin to justify the happiness I felt but tried so hard to conceal. As fate would have it, it turned out to be an exclusive wealthy secondary school down south of my homeland, a place where the sun shone unwaveringly and where being alive was pleasure in itself. Kanagawa School for Boys would precede countless expectations: its list of alumni would vanquish impossible odds, repay the school with unmatched honors, and would set the arena for global competition in the name of academics. And win most often. This was the kind of ambition my family had in store for me, but back then defiance was futile and blissful ignorance the key.

I should mention that the school retains nothing of the shimmering glory that used to captivate me as a teenager each time I raised my eyes high enough to see the threatening blazes of the sky. Whereas it is every inch as desolate as the Alcatraz now, it would be an oasis in a desert of wilderness and a hearth in the cold and long winter nights then. For me, to ask for more was to demand the unreachable. The first time I set my eyes on this new home of mine, looking back on my shoulder would hardly cross my mind.

Takenori Akagi's office would offer little to sway first impressions: its very look would command no less respect, though perhaps it would only appear so with regard to its master, whose capacity for punishment was known far and wide and whose observance for rules was second to none. The walls were too white, the atmosphere altogether precise in what it wanted to communicate—which is authority—and the rest of the furniture seemed like none of them was made later than twenty years ago. Which would do well to add to its solemnity. The only botch in the scene was none other than me, who looked puny and unkempt alongside the propriety that characterized the entire room.

"You have undoubtedly heard of this institution," Akagi said, sitting across me from his then darker mahogany desk. "Young men who choose to come here would at some time or another make a name for themselves, never leaving out the discipline they've received, or the education which has done so much to enrich them."

"I have, sir." I replied, focusing my gaze on the creases of my khaki pants as though they were the source of the discord in the image of me in this perfectly ironed room. Whatever he might mean about making a name for oneself did not strike me as intimidating, even less of any sublime amount of importance.

"That's great to know," Akagi went on. I noticed that he didn't even bother to ask how I heard of Kanagawa School for Boys, or what I heard was being said about it. I presume he assumed that only good things could be said about it. In which case, he wasn't wholly wrong. "because the demands the school makes from its students aren't to be taken lightly. To strive for excellence in all aspects is over-said, but only too true. In Kanagawa School for Boys, mediocrity does not exist, nor is it tolerated."

I kept quiet. Words that were supposed to be spoken, words that I should've said in response, lost themselves. Akagi stared at me.

"I suppose you wonder why I'm the one who's talking to you." Akagi paused. "Well, so as not to lose the subject, you are here because you have been slated to be a member of the Shohoku Dormitory."

I lifted my eyes to him. There was something almost sinister in the seriousness of his glance, which accounted for so many words that I would continuously lose track of their meaning. "What's Shohoku Dormitory?" I inquired, refusing to be surprised. As far as I knew, I didn't sign up for any club or organization on registration day.

"It's good that you asked. Well, actually, there are no official initiation rites to be a member. One's being a part of a dormitory in Kanagawa High is judged by how he fared in the personality test that was given along with the entrance exam."

I pondered for a moment. It didn't occur to me that the stupid personality test was bound to yield any enduring result.

"Of course, it has been deliberated over by the board of trustees so you can rest assured that the best dormitory has been selected for you." Akagi continued. "Here in Kanagawa High, there are four rivaling dormitories that make up the student faction: Kainan, Shoyo, Ryonan, and Shohoku. Each is outstanding in its own character, talents, and achievements. Though sometimes, one has to admit, there would be odd cases cropping up."

One word darted across my mind, "Stereotyping". I wondered, inadvertently, what else the basis was for assigning incoming students to their respective dorms. More to the point, I wondered if I was in the right place. I fought the urge to question the policy, knowing full well what I'd get for improper language.

"I'll be honest with you; we had a difficult time putting you somewhere." He said and forced a guilty-looking smile, as though it was a stunt he had no practice on for years. It was so rigid around the edges. "You floated a hint of doing well in Ryonan, but your prospects seemed too well fitted for Kainan. The combination placed us in some kind of stint: In the end, we agreed to have you here as it may grow up to be a bad idea to put you in Kainan or Ryonan after all."

How not enough that is, I almost muttered. It made me think that perhaps the Shohoku Dormitory was the sanctuary for the odd cases he just mentioned: Later on, it would be confirmed by the arrival of Sakuragi Hanamichi, whose uniqueness would find itself in his boisterous abnormality. In fact, Shohoku's oddness was proverbial on the campus, and for the right reasons.

"The banner of our dormitory is white and red. This building would serve as our quarters: first floor is for the utility and functional rooms, second floor is for freshies, third floor is for the juniors and the seniors, and the roof deck is the recreation area. You'll generally find the building accommodating and sufficient in its facilities, though there are rules for its abuse."

I looked back at Akagi. The stiffness with which he lay himself on the chair sufficiently explained his veritable-rock personality. His glance seemed to say, "Satisfied?" Instead, he said, "There's one more thing: My name is Akagi Takenori, senior, and prefect of the Shohoku Dormitory. If you get into trouble, I'll be the one to answer for it, and then you get to answer to me. There's no sweetening the deal once you find your way to me in such times, and I won't go easy on you either. Among other things, I'm expected to often patrol around to see if my members are camping in the right places and to make sure they're playing their cards right. So don't be shocked if I pop into you late in the night while you're pulling up your usual hocus pocus. Otherwise, don't make me feel sorry for you. Lots of kids have been butted out in the past and you can count on me to do just that: No special treatments, doesn't matter whose heart it breaks. You can look up to me as your brother, your father, your tight friend, whatever you will. There's no rule about that, really. But you're expected to show respect, not only to me but to everyone in Kanagawa. Remember, I'm just here to make sure you keep your feet on the ground so you wouldn't break your ankles. Clear?" He recited all this down to the final rehearsed detail as though it was something he'd been bursting to say. In short, he was in charge. I got the picture pretty lucid alright.

"Yes, sir." I said, and felt stupid at the slightly scared twang in my voice.

"We value our reputation, Mr. Rukawa. I hope you don't wash up in all the absurd scandals this school is sometimes liable to."

"I understand, sir."

"Anything else you want to ask regarding the basics, here's the school handbook for that." He pushed a square-ish volume to me about the size of a normal quarterly magazine. I took it onto my lap, never bothering to open it up at some future time. It would stay underneath the pile of unused papers inside my drawer, never to see sunlight again. For the time being, the bequeathal of that handbook to me marked the end of the meeting.

"Thank you." I said, standing up.

"Lunch is served at the Dining Hall by the way. I suppose I'll see you there."

"If it can be arranged, I'd like to see my room first."

"Right." Akagi said, frowning. "at dinner, then. There's a welcome introduction for the successful applicants. It's your chance to get acquainted with the other dorm members; it's compulsory that you attend so you either head there on your own or we'll drag you right off your bed. Eight o' clock in the evening, sharp." With a wave of the hand, he dismissed me.

Once outside, I sighed. I picked up my luggage from where I temporarily stationed them, just outside Akagi's door. I made my way down the long staircase, then into the left wing where room 107 was. It revealed a spatial, plastered bedroom. Layers of sunlight peeked through the curtain-less openings, producing multiple slanting effects. Its simplicity almost hurt my eyes, the quietness like a song nobody danced to, its deadness unnerving. Each occupant was granted a single bed, a varnished but not unused bookshelf, a study table set, a closet, and a medium sized window opposite the bed space. Nothing more. I stood there long enough to earn a nasty look from the person who got inside before me.

"So you must be my roommate." The stranger said. At that, everything seemed to have lurched into motion, like a motor being plugged. "I was hoping it wasn't a weirdo, but it turned out I shouldn't get my hopes up."

He was about as tall as I was, thin-set, uncouth by all accounts, and … fiery. It took me half a second to realize that exactly what was responsible for his fiery-ness was his stupid, flaming red hair. There was a large comic element to its hue, which would prevent anyone from mistaking it for fearsomeness. I furrowed my eyebrows at its monstrosity. Until then I hadn't seen a person who looked like he'd murder you for blinking. Above all, he didn't look like someone who had brains inside his skull: A failure in every respect of his academic life. It was easy enough to tell.

"What, cat got your tongue?"

"Excuse me." I mumbled, annoyed.

"And he's such a prude too. Oh man, why do I get roped in with no-fun people ALL the time?" He complained dramatically. My intuition was right: he was an asshole.

I ignored him, made no attempt to do something about my thinly disguised irritation, and proceeded to the other end of the room, which seemed so far untouched by this person. I started unloading my stuff when he suddenly lunged himself at my newly acquired bed, crumpling the smooth surface of the white sheets.

"Tell you what, I don't feel very good about this school at all. Do you? I mean, whoever goes to somewhere where there's no girls, like, at all? It's bad enough that it's one million miles away from the city square, but to actually deprive yourself of god's wonders? Man, that's sick." He said with a sudden, childish warmth, nudging me hard on the ribs, as though we ought to get along, as though he just forgot the obscene things he said to me a minute ago.

"I'm fine with it." I said curtly as I became conscious of the pain on my abdomen. I could've said he should get his moronic weight out of my bed but I knew that's one of the fast ways how people get broken jaws. So I kept it low.

"You kidding me? Gosh, you ARE a bore after all. And you don't seem like one to prowl around either. What's up with you, huh? Ever been with people your age? Maybe I should just take you up on your offer of getting out of your way. Hell, I'd do it for good, the better to keep me from dying tragically out of boredom." He went on, stretching himself on my bed shamelessly.

"I'm fine with it, too." I replied and continued organizing my things with perfect care.

"Man, I hate this place, and I haven't even stayed for a whole day. And don't be a social retard. It's not like you can last without talking to anyone." He ranted on.

As a matter of fact, I could. I could bloody well last without seeing anyone for years and years and stay alive and normal after it. Or maybe I wasn't as normal as I thought. By known standard, I was always the quiet one. "You can get yourself expelled if you want. Not that you'd have any difficulty in trying." I muttered audibly before I could stop myself. This person, of course, appeared to me as someone who couldn't be academically interested in anything if his life was on the line. Getting himself kicked out would've been his easiest way out.

"And what the hell do you mean by that?" he stood up, his full length reaching the top of my head. "I can't tell what you think, but to my recollection, I haven't given you permission to develop the nerve and try to insult me."

"If you're so irritated by this school, don't pin it on me. Just leave if you hate it so much." I said almost absently. This seemed to be the wrong thing to say as he drew himself closer to me.

"What, gave up on acting like a complete fag? You want to fight? We can take this little tiff outside and make a nice scene. I have no qualms about making myself famous on the first day; I guess now would be a good time to have a go at it. What do you think? Just give me a word and I'll put you out of your misery." He blared, his patience going kaput, red hot anger shooting across the space and bouncing off the walls. The room suddenly felt heated, as though someone just lighted the fireplace.

"Shut your trap and leave me alone." I spat back.

"WOW. You've done it. You seem to say the right things all the time, kid. I happen to be itching for a good sparring for sometime now. I haven't had one since two months ago. You think you could loosen me up with a good knuckle sandwich, huh? I won't back down. You must be pretty scared now, huh? Come on, I haven't got all day, you know." he was hissing menacingly, like he had any hand in telling me what to feel about him. He was also in the act of rolling up his sleeves.

"Listen closely and you'll hear my teeth chatter." I replied sarcastically, rolled my eyes and continued with the business of placing my things in order. I wasn't about to make him feel swell for all the mean liners he just dropped me.

Just then he roughly grabbed me by the shoulders, I surmise, to execute what physical prowess could be named after him. He could just order me to feel frightened of him and it wouldn't make much difference. I didn't take action but only held him long in my gaze, as though to study him while all the time keeping my calm. It was such a job doing that, acting like his glare did not cut right through my chest. He did not waver: it seemed like he was more used to this staring game than I was. Having no other recourse, I broke the silence, "Cut it out. What will I be to you anyway?" A nobody like me couldn't be made to matter to such a bully, after all.

"Not even a memory once you're dead." Having spoken his piece, he veered away then, seeming to predictably have lost interest in me in an instant. He wouldn't be able to pluck up a good brawl from me, not in this manner at least. He made his way forward the door and before he slammed it, snapped, "You're in for some rough times ahead. I have a long memory so don't expect me to be all girly-friendly to you next time we meet."

I heaved a heavier sigh than what I let out after my meeting with Akagi. I collapsed on the bed, exhausted, becoming pensive and aware of my own decidedly shitty circumstances. The only right thing to do now was to rest my ass off. That being the right thing to do, it couldn't prevent thoughts from seeping into my head. It hadn't been a day and I already found trouble. Or did I really seek it that bad? Akagi's words echoed on as they seemed to carry with them a far greater significance than I first supposed. I began to curse as I lay there.

I looked at the bed next to me. A huge suitcase was on it. If one looked closely, a small tag on it read, "Sakuragi Hanamichi". So that's the bastard's name, I thought, knowing that knowing his name did not make things any easier. I didn't need to look far to see what options I had; in all likelihood, every other person at Shohoku Dormitory was just as worse an asshole. Peace was a word I hadn't encountered in a while and it seemed like it was something I wouldn't get a dose of for an equally long time. My silence, which was the only thing I had in the name of pride, wouldn't be of much use in this place.

All these thoughts I turned again and again over my head that day, too tired to be properly intimidated. I realized that my life was fast on its way to making a 360 overhaul. But the two distinct meetings I had with Akagi and Sakuragi would be nothing compared to what was due next.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Retracing the Shorelines

Disclaimer: I don't own SD boys, Inoue does. The events that follow are not included in the original plot but enjoy anyway.

Kaiser: Thanks for the review, dude. Anyway, you were asking what processor I used, right? It's just MS Word '03, if I'm not mistaken.

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**Chapter II: Distinguishing Friend From Foe **

What made up the Shohoku Dormitory was over and above what I first thought was comprehensible. For words to suffice, I'd probably need five hundred pages of descriptions, anecdotes, and dialogues that'd span a whole week with them, and what I'd agree to be an accurate memory. It would be a great factor to why I never quite wholly understood this prep school. While every other person's preconception about any institution with the same level of prestige suggests honor and nobility, mine didn't even come close. Meeting my dorm mates alone convinced me of it.

The welcome party on the night of my first arrival was meant to be delightful, and yet typical. The officers, whoever they were, seemed to have taken a great deal of pain to rent whatever necessities the event needed to seem like a wild one. They achieved the purpose to a certain extent, and what surprised me about it is the fact that it met a serious resistance from the Shohoku Dormitory's members' general appearance: Guys in their best signature suits and supposedly best behavior, their clean-shaven faces, their neatly combed hair. But that was all: It had to stop there because it didn't take long for them to live up to the party's wildness. In a minute, roughness and barbarism prevailed. There was something almost vulgar about the way they'd grab a hold of each other as a mode of greeting, something loud and at other times intolerable for me. They were, like any other guys their age, seemed to be suffering from an epidemic called adolescence. And much as I wish to draw a picture of them with more sympathy, at that time, that wasn't possible. What I was seeing before me then was nothing more than a three-ring circus replete with its outlandish cast.

"Cheeky freshmen." I heard a low growl behind me, there, not so far away from the buffet table where a group of goon-ish upper-classmen was surrounding the punch bowl.

"Easy, Ryota. Why else do you think they're called freshies?" a medium-sized guy snickered nervously at the person they called Ryota.

"Beats me." Ryota said, bored. "I could grow a moustache waiting for anything to happen here. I can't believe everyone's looking forward to this." He slapped a hand on the table to indicate what must be his clear annoyance. Everyone else outside his group was in motion, a glass of alcohol too many in their veins. They were literally in a sway.

Just then, Sakuragi Hanamichi proposed a drunken toast as he leaped agilely on the makeshift platform. There was an innocent smile on his face that didn't used to be there when he bullied me that morning. A streak of artificial light was diffused all over him, rendering its innocence more and more awkward by the minute.

"May this be the best year Shohoku has seen!" he cried, and was met with a thunderous, inebriated applause. "No need to worry, comrades. For Hanamichi Sakuragi, greatest dorm man in the world, has come to join you in your glory!!!" he went on. This time the applause was accompanied by laughter. I can't be sure if that was the reaction Sakuragi wanted, but I was sure, too, that he was too drunk to bother searching his feelings. I hunkered my head lower, feeling guilt by association. _Why the hell did I have to be hurled along with this moron? It depresses me to think that we should breathe the same room air henceforward._

I guess it took another five minutes before he actually quit announcing his self-fulfilling prophecies. Sakuragi's abnormality, as I'd prefer to call it, was the one thing they couldn't take away from him. He was shameless, and seemed to take pride in being so; it didn't cost him anything but his dignity after all.

"Oh my god, another useless git is the last thing I need. Why don't these thugs ever learn how to fucking conserve their breath? Geez, this is why I hate freshmen. Let's beat it, Yasuda." Ryota complained again, glaring. Around this time, an altogether new twang was added to his voice: frustration.

"Oh come on, Ryota. Will you listen to what you're saying? We can't miss this. There may be good recruits here—"

"Don't turn this into a lucky coincidence. If they're interested to join the club, they can go to the try-outs. As of the moment, it appears that now's the good time to split." Ryota hissed.

"Well, on that score, I'll hang around. Akagi might need me later. I'll just tell him you had a headache." Yasuda replied almost apologetically. I'm sure Ryota was having more than just a headache.

"Sure." At that, Ryota retired, no more interested than before. I gave him a casual glance as he passed me by en route to the narrow exit, though I didn't mark any shift in his expression. Like hell I gave a fuck anyway. His distaste for new faces stuck out a mile. Because of what, search me. I'm sure he could've asked me to shove off if he was in the mood for it, but I'm sure he wasn't. As he left the room, I felt a sudden warmth replace his space.

I scanned the crowd. The energy was beginning to wear off a little, the atmosphere easing in, sobriety returning. There were about fifteen freshmen in the running, including me. It made me wonder if getting along existed in their vocabulary; for one thing, it didn't in mine. I was better equipped than most of them in terms of the physical, and any other advantage I had over them was pretty much everyone's guess, at least at first. They were such puny, inconsequential things that I felt pretty much displaced, unless I was blowing my own horn all this time and reading into it too much. Sure, like any other teenager, I was prone to developing quite a number of superiority issues. At that time, I didn't see any use for all of them. Perhaps the sentiment was even mutual.

"What a night, eh?"

I wheeled around, red-handed with the mean thoughts I was then nursing. A slim person with glasses smiled kindly at me, his one hand in his pocket, the other holding a wine glass. "You could use a drink, you know," he chuckled.

"I'm fine." I responded. It occurred to me that I hadn't permitted myself to touch a single drink that night. That's when curiosity rode me.

"Are you sure? This is good. Cognac, fifteen years old, and it's off its cap and it's all yours. You don't find them anywhere nowadays. You'll be sorry."

"Okay. I'll give it a shot." I succumbed before I even started to fight it. If my parents knew about it, they'd have me murdered right on the spot.

He led me over to the table through a thick film of man-made smoke. The ambience was starting to irritate me. The table seemed to have only scarcely survived the raid: the platters were overturned, glasses rolling off or otherwise shattered on the floor, odd potteries doing slow exhibitions. What was in the punch bowl was diluted in melted ice that it already became transparent, nasty particles settling at the bottom. The assortment of finger foods on the silver wares looked worse than scavenged, tramped over, and vomited back. Nobody seemed to mind it; everyone was far too preoccupied in his own public display of idiocy to take note of anything else, hygiene even less. In a minute the person who led me over handed the half glass he was in the process of preparing.

"Here's to a wonderful start for you, Rukawa-kun."

I stared at him and fought back a frown. He was the first person in the room to acknowledge my presence. More so, he knew my name.

"I'm the deputy head of Shohoku Dormitory. It's my job to get to know each member." He winked good-naturedly at me. "Kogure Kiminobu. Nice to meet you." He cheerfully held out a hand, which I took. _So this is what it's about._

"My pleasure." I uttered what must be the oldest formulaic script for such gatherings while not meaning either of the words in the phrase. I nearly beat myself for it--its anti-comical lameness--afterward.

"I figure you must be tired. I know it's been a long day for you but you gotta bear it tonight, because this is one of the most important events in the school calendar. There can be no second chance for this." Kogure explained. I suspected he thought he owed me an explanation. For that, I was almost sorry for acting like a snob on a high horse for not mingling.

"So I heard." I said, remembering Akagi's invitation.

"You will find the members very interesting. They're not really all this, er, bad, I mean, not in the sense that you presently understand. How do you find them, so far? Honestly?"

"Wild. Childish." I said after a few seconds, at a loss for another adjective. Seeing Kogure raise his left eyebrow, I hastened to add, "Present company excluded."

He laughed just then, a seemingly kind-hearted, well-intentioned laugh. "I see. The next morning I doubt you would even recognize them from how they behaved tonight." He said. "Anyway, Rukawa, there's someone I should ask you to see before you end the night, otherwise it wouldn't be complete. He's absent at the moment: _he said_ he has a stomachache. Would you mind checking on him?"

I twitched slightly at the oddness of Kogure-sempai's request. I audibly cleared my throat, where I believe my voice got temporarily jammed. Who could it be this time? It could only be worse, right? It wasn't like I hadn't had enough of weird identities cramming spaces in my brain; like, I really wanted to get to know more other than the handful with me. All these thoughts swept over me, failing to register Kogure's actual presence smack right in front of me. Indeed, I had nothing more to say and because there was nothing more to say, I took a huge gulp from my cognac. I choked, but inwardly.

"Please, Rukawa. I've asked your other batch-mates to come see him. Some of them already have, and some of them promised to meet him some time afterward. I think it's best for you to see him now. He's not feeling very well so he wouldn't detain you long. He's actually our Public Relations Officer and it's imperative that new students in this dorm get to know him as soon as they can."

"What's his name?" I inquired, as if it put things on an even plane to know his name.

"Mitsui. Mitsui Hisashi. His room is 309."

"Okay. I'll go once I drain this." I answered, far from relieved. I had no idea what compelled me to honor his stupid and seemingly unnecessary request. Maybe it was his aura. Maybe it was his very adult charm that ever so successfully concealed the fact that what he did was to actually badger me out of my wits. Whatever it was, it only intensified my tenseness toward the task he just so carelessly hurled at me.

"Well, that's the spirit." Kogure said and his merry expression changed a fraction. "You might find Mitsui a little, erm, different. Those who've known him either grew to—I'm not going to sugarcoat it—abhor him or love him to bits. It's just either of the two extremes. Well, who knows, Rukawa; you might be the one to break the tradition." He winked at me again as a gesture of goodbye, and proceeded to move on to the next freshman on the list.

I watched him go on with his business. I watched him for what seemed like hours until I realized that what I was in fact doing was delaying my meeting with the infamous Mitsui Hisashi. Looking back, I very nearly reversed my good opinion of Kogure then, and I'm thankful that I didn't. if I did, it would have only earned me another sorry conscience. Kogure-sempai would be there to put me out of a tight squeeze every time I was on the verge of catastrophically screwing up. He would fulfill more than a vice-president's duty in an attitude that wasn't self-serving, and therefore rare, and would go on to iron things out just when they seemed hopeless. He would be the one to mend our ways for us without a harsh word of reproach; even then, you wouldn't catch him making reference to it at some future time. True, he had no other capital but his good sense and patience, but that's precisely why I looked up to him the way I never looked up to anybody. It was, to put it minimally, impossible to dislike him. That night, meeting him the first time, I didn't know all of these yet, and I doubt if he ever came to know about it. I just watched him with a semi-indifferent irritation as I gravitated toward yet another strange tale, that with Mitsui Hisashi.

I took a final sip from my cognac before I marched out of that humbug of a party. None seemed to have noticed my departure and I doubt if anyone would care if they ever got around it. I was half tipsy from the drink and hot on the neck. At some point, I lost count of the steps I was taking. Perhaps the cognac was meant to dispel any reluctance I might've had toward meeting Mitsui, in which case, it did a good job out of me. I took a round trip on the second floor as I attempted to grope my trail. Before I could feel the surrounding whirl around me, I was in front of Room 309. There seemed to be no recent activity of mischief in the shiny-clean corridor; just silence, pure, unadulterated silence mocking the windy night away. I began to pound on the door, almost subconsciously. Were there occupants in the next rooms, a nice little havoc would've ensued. It creaked open after a few good knocks.

"Wow. Yet another one who sure knows how to get a rise out of his seniors."

A tall guy in red robes stood in the next slide. The shiny fabric of his garment flowed all the way down to the carpet. A faint scent of aftershave seemed to have tracked him, but an even stronger whiff of something alcoholic swam with it, and I'm sure it wasn't from the cognac I just had. He was making tiny movements with his lips, whereas his dark blue eyes focused on me, transcending, far-seeing, stabbing little marbles that they were, half hidden by two thick sets of eyelashes. The exposed portion of his skin revealed an almost ridiculously smooth surface that was slightly pink from humidity, more womanly than altogether manly. His hair was un-brushed, which seemed to be the only thing amiss in his otherwise complete image. Over and above everything, he had the most beautiful face I had ever seen. But he was furrowing his brows in obvious annoyance, which I instantly and unknowingly hoped was not directed to me.

"Kogure-sempai asked me to visit you, Mitsui-sempai." I said quietly. The inclination to be polite swooped in just in time I opened my mouth. If such a person ever existed to command my conduct, it would've been Mitsui. I just knew it right then, right at the moment my heart started jumping in and out of my rib cage upon the glorious sight of this person.

"I wouldn't wonder. Would you like to come in?" Mitsui said rather haughtily. As he glided back to his room I noticed how much his graceful movements fit him so, or else I was not so much in the condition to judge correctly, thanks to the cognac. But that was just half a glass!

I yielded to his invitation and followed his lead. Once swallowed inside, I almost tripped: I had no notion that that's what was in store for me. The room, Mitsui Hisashi's preposterously furnished flat, was a room fit for a queen. A king-size four-poster bed lay in the middle, under a round golden carpet imported from somewhere down south. Under his pillow, a half finished decanter of burgundy was sloppily tucked, as if placed there for emergency purposes. I was right; he was carousing the night away in privacy, away from the party I never wanted to attend. His furniture was superfluous, and even had an art nouveau appeal to them, not to mention must've cost a fortune. His wallpapers seemed to meld with the overdesigned background. On the ceiling was a gold and crystal chandelier nobody would think of buying, unless he's some royalty jerk. It became clear just then why Mitsui was in a silk robe; to effect the air of a true blue monarch. He must be out of his mind to live in a place like this.

"Fancy, isn't it? It's my mom's room's replica, you know. I always drove her out of hers so I could sleep there. When they sent me here I figured I was going to miss that room, that's when I came up with the brilliant idea to transform this boring quarter to something this magnificent. Not the same size though, but it would do just fine." Mitsui recited all this languidly. I, on the other hand, hung on to every word. He was loose in the head, alright.

"Hm."

"Well, why the long face? I suppose that thorough little prig Kogure dragged you to my doorstep. He's gotten into the habit of sending me freshmen for reasons I don't even understand. Why, he doesn't trust me enough to believe that I'd meet them on my own volition. He must think I don't care. Seriously, you can't expect a boy that smart to find out what life is about: it's about caring, right?" Mitsui giggled. I couldn't detect the sarcasm that should've been in his voice, but then again, that might be just part of his poison.

"Kogure-sempai asked me to check on you because you aren't feeling well."

"Did he? I wasn't feeling well. But I've been fine all afternoon. I didn't want to go to that party because I'm not interested in getting acquainted with you guys. And besides, there's that Sakuragi jerk. Have you met him?"

"He's my room-mate." I said and pondered for a while. If Mitsui didn't care about meeting us freshmen, which he as good as said, what exactly prevented Kogure from thinking that he didn't care?

"How unfortunate. He barged in on me this morning and yanked me off my bed and did real offensive things to me and my body. Truly beastly. What a fine greeting for his PRO. I suppose he wants to gain recognition on his first day as the only freshman to abuse Mitsui Hisashi. Freshmen are like that, pushy and predictable. They're absolutely vulnerable to think and act like they know every last trick in the book the very first time they set foot in this boarding school. They're just unbelievable."

"I'm not." I mumbled under breath, my irritation reaching a farther point on the scale. If Sakuragi did do that to Mitsui, I probably owed him a favor.

"I'm glad you know you're not. That bastard got me pegged real bad. He's in fact the reason why I was ill all morning. Well, anyway, you seem to be more peaceful. I hope you wouldn't fail to deliver the goods."

"Yes, sempai."

"I could get used to this. Don't mistake me: I'm not a perverted person, though you might hear a lot of that around here. I'd rather not broach the subject, though. At any rate, I'm a really nice person," He paused and smiled, his very white, even teeth showing, "until I decide I've been nice long enough."

I glanced back at him, racking my head for what he meant by that. My sobriety hit rock bottom. His smile was so natural it was enough to drive anyone out of his wits. I was contracting its symptoms for all the world knew. He continued flashing that insipid smile to me, like he'd never get sick of it or something. What he said floated inside me: I would remember it clearly because it was one of the few true things he'd say.

"Well then, I might've scared you already to my heart's content. I guess you must be exhausted. I dismiss you, Kuwata." Mitsui said finally.

"It's Rukawa."

"Whatever. Bye."

I closed the door behind me, frowning. A tuff of gray clouds seemed to have been lifted off my chest. The night outside had gotten specially ripe, the winds gentler but no less cool. Mitsui Hisashi, they seemed to whisper. I turned the name over my head for the nth time since I heard it first from Kogure-sempai. Mitsui Hisashi was the last person I got to meet at the Shohoku Dormitory but, I had to agree, by no means least. Simultaneously, I came to realize I would have a hard time classifying him, a far harder time than I would ever have in assigning Sakuragi, Ryota, and Kogure to their respective roles. Beside Mitsui, those three would appear just as real a case as any other; ordinary, plain, human. I plodded back to my room, not knowing how and when I managed it, in addition to being more pensive than I ever expected. Mitsui Hisashi. He got me fair and square.

I lay on my bed with the snoring Sakuragi on the other side of the room. Something about the blatant crisis that was his bed sheets made me pretty certain that more than two people dragged him all the way from the party hall. I smiled at the picture it produced inside my head. I smiled, in spite of the premature hangover I got from the cognac, or was it something incurred from Mitsui? I smiled nevertheless. I basked in the glory of the soundless night, droning, darkening, deepening. And I decided to block _him_ from my thoughts, knowing full well it wouldn't render me any real service at all, either in the way of fantasy or other.

It was futile, however.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

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Retracing the Shorelines

Disclaimer: I don't own SD boys, Inoue does. The events that follow are not included in the original plot but enjoy anyway.

A/N: Very thankful for the reviews. Anyhow, I got a feedback that the piece is going in a novel's pace, which might be a euphemism for a snail's pace. Come to think of it, it IS as dragging as a freaking novel. I think this would rather prompt me to lay the plot lines more generously this time around and if you're lucky, what with the recent development in my creativity, you might catch a turning point. Or not. It all depends. I'm honestly more used to gradual narration and trying to include as many events as my readers think ideal might turn out to be a strain in the process. Just let me know what you think, okay?

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**Chapter III: Vanity**

It was around the beginning of fall that year when things became temporarily frozen in time. Nights seemed to lapse to eternity and days seemed to stretch even longer. Each waking moment was to be especially and skillfully avoided, because it carried with it little bits of reality that gradually became altogether too much to take. All at once, they overcame me, crashed into me in a way that seemed to say I was a lot better than this. I knew I was, and the thought kept me sane alone of all the other mortifying ones that I had to put up with. If at all I can chart these moments according to how worse they were, my classroom appearances would make up for the largest percentage. Barely tolerating each lecture, I coursed through these hours without the slightest interest, without the slightest intention to keep my eyes peeled just long enough to realize what subject the instructor was teaching.

Worst of all was the difficulty I had to go through just to keep me from stuffing my head inside an oven at the sight of Sakuragi Hanamichi and Nobunaga Kiyota. Nobunaga was a fellow freshman hailing from Kainan Dormitory and was objectionable in every way I could think of. His father was a governor of some state in the east and rumor had it that he paid his son's way in. Not that the information met any contest. There was no telling what Nobunaga would do when he couldn't be in the classrooms, except that it was bound to be stupid. There was no deferring any judgment where Nobunaga Kiyota's character was concerned: What you see is what you get. Because of Kainan's merits, he had to put on airs none of his immediate features deserved. For example, he was always bound to broadcast what social gatherings outside school he and his Kainan mates had been prompted to attend. These gatherings were usually in the line of grand debut balls which necessitate guests to come in in formal attire: of course, if this Nobunaga monkey was to don any suit with a mad price tag the mismatch would certainly have been unable to miss nasty comments. This was the point Sakuragi always had to take—and probably I with him—but things didn't have to reach the extent where all the desks in the classroom were knocked out of their places and half the class restraining them by the arms. Once incapacitated, Sakuragi would then start a string of name-callings. Not to be outdone, Nobunaga would retaliate. Side by side, it was impossible to tell whose accusations were true, each seemed to claim just about the same thing: That the other was the missing link between human and ape.

"What do wild monkeys eat for breakfast anyway? Their words? NYAHAHAHA!" Sakuragi laughed out loud one normal day. On his humor's lucky days, some of our classmates would chime in and hoot. This was one of those days.

"This is what I hate about country boys. They never seem to get their dye in fashion. I suggest you get it all the way through your neck; it would suit you, red-neck scum." Nobunaga would reply, delighted at his pun. The fact that Sakuragi was raised in the countryside was no secret: that his family owned vast lands in these remote territories was always a welcome topic.

Their exchange would more or less run along that set. Alongside of everything they appeared to be, their stupidities in tandem were too much to take, leaving those who listened to them utterly at the mercy of the school bell. The friction would cause a bomb to explode and chaos would ensue to finally and predictably dominate. I suspect one-fourth of my first year's sessions were interrupted every time both of them felt the slightest urge to pick up where they left off yesterday. Ceasefire only occurred when the teacher mercifully sent them both to detention. Having to witness this on a daily basis possibly deducted fifteen years from my lifetime. If I get to finally kick it one of these days, I wouldn't be surprised if autopsy reveals that this caused it. Nonetheless, you could say I was partially glad to have Sakuragi's attention wander to someone else. We didn't have a good start, nor was there any sign that we'd warm up to one another at any point in the term, so I was relieved that he chose Nobunaga to pester in lieu of me. Maybe he found a true match in him. For whatever it was worth, it did me good for a time. Somehow, unexpected as it was, he mellowed down during those short-lived days when we found ourselves alone in our room. I didn't need problems in addition to the indirect troubles I was having with him in the classroom, so I tried my best to be decent with him. We would swap a casual word or two in the corridors, in the dining halls, at the various forums held in the plenary halls.

I practically did not matter to him. I was gratefully invisible up to that day, some weeks after I first became part of Kanagawa High.

It was a day like any other. Basic Algebra class was about to begin first thing in the morning. A drowsy atmosphere marked the entire space with only an occasional disturbance from the more sensible class members who were scuttling through their notes in an attempt to recall the previous lecture's content. They, too, were suffering from a yawning fit. The day would've lived up to its usual status quo had not Sendoh Akira, a junior Ryonan celebrity, nearing his status as a local legend, bobbed in his head through the barely ajar door to deliver a short message to Aida Hokoichi, my seatmate, another Ryonan.

"Aida, are you here?" he called out across the room. Aida Hikoichi sat next to the window on the left end; I was on his right, so in order for Sendoh to make his way to him, he had to pass by me. Sendoh ambled across the floor; instantly, the spotlight turned on him, preparing the center stage, the audience quelling down, and Sendoh Akira was the visual star. All because he cantered in the classroom with no other purpose but to remind a dorm mate of some petty thing. Whispers began to flutter in the formerly dead air; I only had to strain my sleepy ears a little bit to catch anything that was said about him. That's when I arrived at the conclusion that he nearly made Ryonan champions of the inter-dormitory competition the year before. The credits solely his.

"How are you today, Aida?" he said, smiling. "anyway, Ikegami-sempai is calling for a seven o'clock meeting at his place. It's something to do with the charity concert we're holding out this fall. Attendance is a must, he meant to tell you. See you there."

"Hai, sempai!" Aida piped, star-struck, moist-eyed. I saw then what was so remarkable about this person, there between the quick window of time when he strafed in front of me and moved to the next: His eyes. He had the shiniest eyes that'd make the stars run after their money. Perhaps for a related reason, his charms were easily communicated. Smiling, he could get anyone marching to his beat. All that aside, he was profusely blessed with good looks.

"Ah… so you are _The_ Sendoh Akira." Nobunaga, always begrudging others the attention lavished on them, broke the silence. In a fillip, he was standing right behind me, resting one hand on the back of my seat. "You're the one I should watch out for, huh? Tough at first glance, but just a sissy inside. I should be asking you why my dorm mates make the sort of fuss about you."

"It's because they're fags and so are you, wild monkey. They wouldn't pass a chance on such a pretty boy, would they?" Sakuragi butted in, unbidden. He surveyed Sendoh from head to foot, grinning. "Not that he's not."

"Shut up, red ape. I didn't ask you to sneak your nose in and besides, who the hell said you're qualified to think?" Nobunaga continued. "So Sendoh, other than your good genes, what _makes_ you a star?" he said. Sakuragi just shrugged. A kind of unmistakable tension clung to the air as both felt their pride being undermined. Sendoh's answer would've been one both wanted to hear, and jest, undoubtedly. At this point, the class became still, rapt in attention. A scene out of this world unfolded: Sakuragi and Nobunaga finally boarding the same boat, Sendoh on the other. He was smiling, amused, obviously enjoying what he came to consider as an entertainment. Aida, until then disregarded, was darting cautious sidelong glances from one side to another, his words suspended there in the unseen passage inside his throat. If it did come out, I'm sure it would writhe, just as he was on the brink of doing. I sat merely as a total spectator and kept my glance down in hopes of keeping my interest under the surface. As long as I could feint sleepiness everything would be fine.

"You guys are the ones who thrust that title unto me. I should ask you why _you_ consider me a star." Sendoh rejoined almost heartily, instead of losing face. It was too well said to let him get off the already sticky situation. There was no trace of mockery on his face; unbelievably, he was still smiling. A silent cheer seemed to issue forth from the crowd. Something threatening was approaching.

"Why don't we take the shine off the star, then?" Sakuragi offered and cracked his knuckles. Nobunaga didn't say anything but I could tell he was in for a similar mood. More than anything, their defeat was apparent. All they really had to do was to embrace it with chins up.

But before I could stop myself, I snorted. It was an audible, scornful snort. The kind that's hard to miss, whose meaning is always easily exposed. Both started, in unison,

"What the hell—"

"Oh hello there!" Sendoh's eyes widened as they landed on me the very first time. "What could be your name?" he asked, that same smile plastered on his perfectly angular face.

"Rukawa." I said quietly. It took all my poise to say it. Damn.

"I'm sorry?" Sendoh said.

"His name is Rukawa. Rukawa Kaede, and he is my seatmate!" Aida Hikoichi's voice crashed, sniveling, waking from nervousness. A sigh escaped the crowd's lungs in recognition of the release from the thick tension. I was the only one still in danger.

"Rukawa, huh?" Sendoh pronounced my name in even pitch. I couldn't tell if his interest was genuine until he slapped me hard on the back and exclaimed, "Rukawa, you are SO handsome! You should come to my flat next time and have champagne with me. It was a fine day when you decided to enter Kanagawa."

At that, I lost my firm foothold. I choked, and so did Sakuragi and Nobunaga. If the sounds we produced were alike, I'm sure they only differed in their degree of deliberateness. Mine was as honest as it could get; god knows what was theirs. As for Sendoh himself, what made him say that probably owed it to his desire to get away from there, with no regard to what it made me feel whatsoever, nor to its consequences. I only had to look at him to be sure of it.

Just then the bell rang to indicate the advent of yet another boring class. Sendoh gave me a salute and only nodded to Sakuragi and Nobunaga, both of whom were visibly fuming. He swiftly made his short journey on the way out. My feelings toward him then were just as vague as my prospects of further lingering in this school. I wanted to disappear for the time being. In a while, everyone was seated.

"Sendoh sempai's room is 207. The Ryonan building is right beside the football field." Aida muttered under breath, not meeting my gaze.

"So?" I replied.

"If he said he wanted you to come to his place, he meant it. He'd be expecting you. He's really nice, Rukawa-san. Please don't upset him." Unless I misheard it, Aida was pleading. Or whimpering.

I mentally reiterated Sendoh's words while the teacher's voice droned in the background, only barely intelligible. "It was a fine day when you decided to enter Kanagawa." His words would have greater effect than the slap he gave me. I then pictured his smile, the fine details of his features, his self-contained manner of handling what was to transform into a fine mess. None of them gave off any clue on how to interpret his words. No, this wasn't what I bargained for. By gaining an ally, admirer, a friend or whatever Sendoh really was to me, I gained two impertinent enemies. Sakuragi and Nobunaga, I supposed, would never forgive me for stealing Sendoh's attention that day along with unwittingly making fools out of them. Henceforward, they would bully me in a sort of systematic succession, as though they would plan beforehand what sort of terrorism they'd employ to make me feel bad and take turns in executing it. I wonder now if they've finally realized that it was rarely worth their efforts. It was only a matter of time until I developed the kind of defense mechanism that would allow me to square off with them and take their crimes in a stride.

On that day, however, there was no way I could've known all of these. I only repeated Sendoh's words, "It was a fine day when you decided to enter Kanagawa." It was a sad day when both Sakuragi and Nobunaga decided to gang up on me.

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I remember that one desolate area on the grounds of Kanagawa High. It was a landscape straddled between a rock formation and the shores of Asai Lake. In winter, dashes of snowflakes scattered on the soil, accenting the grayness further and creating a monochrome out of the whole picture. In fall, it was brownish and windy, and if one stayed a bit too long, he would blend with the surrounding until he faded from view. A camouflage effect would be the closest description, I guess, but back then I didn't know what camouflage meant: I was only aware that it was what I was trying to do. There were no fences to mark the boundaries of the school. If one desired it, he could wander far off the distance until he got lost in the wilderness. History had it that it was one of the most popular resorts of suicidal students: In a few weeks, their bodies would be found, successfully mangled by a bear or some stray mountain lion. It was also one of the most popular means by which the administration scared off troublemakers who still valued their pointlessly spoiled lives, by giving them detentions held in these areas in the chilly dead of night. The spot I'm talking about stood more in the outskirts of the place than in its proper, beyond the common bounds of mischief committed by the wayward ones. The atmosphere of solitude in there was too present, too felt, that few were ever interested to sit by the banks and watch the graceful ripples of the lake.

I discovered this place rather out of my wish to run away from my daily doses of stress than out of willful negligence. It was fall when I tumbled upon it, in October of my first year. At the threshold of winter, the silence was magical. The afternoon at that time was orange, and not cloudy. The temperature was dropping, but not dropping low enough to make me forfeit the place. Downward, the tips of the water edged closer and closer to my feet. I stood there for minutes, hours maybe. I might've fallen in love with the place at first sight.

"Cutting classes is common, you know, but not sanctioned." A voice rose from behind me. From the margins of my eyesight, a guy in black overcoat materialized. I could feel him getting closer to me.

"What's in it?" I said. As far as I knew, skipping classes wasn't worse than half the sins committed daily in Kanagawa High.

"What's in it, eh? You tell me." he paused, and bent down. "You're in my dormitory. As a general rule, we report this to the dorm head. Do you honestly think they won't give you a hard time for loafing at school hours?"

Surprise seized me then. That voice, of course, was _his _voice. It couldn't have been anyone's. I was so absorbed in the place that it sounded no more than something that seeps through a small crack, devoid of identity. I steered my gaze to his direction and was confronted by the agitating good looks of Mitsui Hisashi. He didn't seem anywhere near devoid of identity, of course. The calm person in me drowned. I was done for. For a while, the silence that I so longed for resumed.

"Your teachers told you to value your education, not to take it for granted. Can you imagine the amount of money that goes out of your parents' hands to get you into this school?" He said. Dressed fully, he looked more sophisticated than when I first saw him in his glorious robes.

"Not really."

He raised his eyebrows. "Sometimes it just saddens me how much you newbies take advantage of any occasion to screw up. I bet you were just bored in that class."

"Right." I almost snapped. I was always disgusted by the fact that the universal verdict on freshmen is guilty. I veered my gaze away from him and into the far horizon. I could feel the color rising in my cheeks.

He giggled. It wasn't the reaction I expected to get. His face altered, or brightened to be specific, and the outcome was breathtaking. "That was a joke. I was just reading off the principal's old script, you know. I happen to know it by heart." He said, snickering maniacally at intervals. "You better just take it for all it's worth. Is it with old Ando Sojiro or Nishida Kentaro?"

"Nishida-san."

"Oh, brother. I attended about the first half of the semester and whisked out the rest. I hated History 101. Can't really see the point to it. You see, it's the curriculum's fault why everyone's skipping classes. It shocks me that no one's stopping to think and realize that they're all so stupid." He said and sank back in a sitting position. "Why don't you sit with me?" he motioned to the space beside him. I obliged.

"I also skipped Basic Algebra." I gave it a start. It wasn't a confession, but it was enough to ignite a conversation.

"Why do you think I'm here? Hell, Calculus is killing me. I can't last breathing the air in that building. It's a confinement in there. I always told my mom I could well do with a private tutor but she wouldn't hear any of it. She doesn't buy it that people could die out here."

"Case in point."

He giggled again. He looked so feminine when he did that that he seemed beyond reproach. Later, it would emerge as a force of habit as I would become more and more accustomed to it. He fiddled a nearby twig and traced the icy soil in curves. "I like this place. I often go here when I want to get away from everybody."

I fixed him a look as if to want to find out whoever it was he wanted to get away from. I had a feeling any name he'd give wouldn't simplify matters: with Mitsui Hisashi, nothing was ever simple. He ran away not from anyone, not from this whole affair of going to Kanagawa, or in any case from the issues that surrounded him. He ran away, as I would later learn, from images that were palpable only in his mind. From his personal demons. And not with all the best wishes in the world would I be able to guide him away from them. Whether I was his friend or something else, I would fail in the one aspect I wanted to help him with. Whether as a friend or hypothetical other, I was tried and found wanting.

"I don't really bother myself a good deal with Kanagawa people. I think they're just all abhorrent, with a few exceptions of course. You see, when I was a freshman everyone knew who I was, down to the last member of the cleaning staff. I think they all still do. The name I carry with me isn't really something you hear ordinarily on the streets. People remember my name wherever I go, if they don't already know it. You don't get to associate with my ranks unless you're someone I've taken a fancy to. Otherwise, piss off. That's the world for me. No gray zone. That's who I am; but come to think of it, what do _I _say about who I am? I never really had the chance to think about it." Mitsui sighed, a thin line of fog slithering out of his lips. "I think I just about had enough of it. People saying things about me. In a way, they're making it easier for me. But how do I construct myself from my standpoint, eh?"

"Think about what you can do, about what you've already done. That's what you are." I replied. I could feel the hopelessness in both his voice and eyes. As I recall it now, I still see how desperately lost he was. Perhaps as much for this reason as any other, I didn't decide to stand up and leave him on his own. Deeper down, I was afraid he'd plunge down the water and never resurface. I didn't take heed of how strange the situation was getting either. Instead of counseling me, I caught myself grabbing his end of the stick. He giggled again.

"Well, what do you think you are?"

"Just the quintessential tough nut to crack." I said, my voice flat. He giggled even harder. Without rhyme, without reason, I began to smile. Perhaps I intended to amuse him all along.

"I could just like you." He muttered and snuggled closer to me. In this proximity, I could effortlessly feel his quivers, as though some vessel was radiating them to my body. "It's cold out here. Would you hold me?"

I sat still, allowing time to pass. I might've seen it coming, and failed to judge it, and consequently received the shock of my life. He didn't say "could", but "would", as if to question whether I wanted to as opposed to if I was capable of it. Was it a test, meaning to measure how far I'd go to protect his ego? Was it well-meaning, innocent, triggered by the spur of the moment and purely needed? I didn't know, because I was no judge of character, and because at that time there was no way to gauge the situation as he understood it. He and I grew up in different worlds, the gap between un-spanned, unknown: I would walk in a straight and narrow path, surviving on bare minimum; he in a wide, winding avenue, needing everyone, everything. While he had everyone thinking about him, I would have no one worrying about me. To live with him under the same roof was as near as I could ever get to him. Realizing his needs, here in this enclosed space, I began to see why I had to do it for him.

The wind would continue howling. The sun would completely set and disappear with the streaming lights. The imaginary music the trees swayed to would gather volume. And only the sharpened senses could detect the changes. In this desolate place, I held Mitsui Hisashi in my arms like I never held anyone before, never paying any attention to the shifts and turns in our surrounding, never caring anymore. I closed my eyes and befriended the darkness. As I did so, I felt as though I was stumbling in an unsure world. Its jaws pried open to beckon to me and lead me all the way to its belly, where my only resolution awaited. In this world, Mitsui Hisashi and I would be alone in the cold dark night. His arms would wrap themselves around me as we trip on the concrete steps together. As long as our bodies linked, no harm would ever come to him or me. No stone, sharp or blunt, could ever bruise us no matter how many times and how solidly we fell down.

I opened my eyes. Mist rolled before the scenery in front me. Mitsui was breathing gently against my chest, his eyes fluttering, just half-alive. His skin emitted a blue radiance against the moonlight, nearly outshining it. His face was still in wistful repose, more beautiful than the departed twilight. He was, as I would maintain for many years afterward, as alone as he always felt himself to be. Indeed, solace was his only loyal companion in reality. I knew then that he was lonely beyond any hope of redemption.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Retracing the Shorelines

Disclaimer: I don't own SD boys, Inoue does. The events that follow are not included in the original plot but enjoy anyway.

* * *

**Chapter IV: Crossing Paths**

Pretty soon after the incident with Sendoh there would be no division between real life and nightmare. What could've been my coming of age in an upscale, ridiculously prestigious educational institution suddenly whittled down to long days of misery and barbaric harassment. The moment Sakuragi Hanamichi decided to quit being decent with me, Kanagawa High pretty much meant getting blown from one hell to another. Never mind that the school boasted of the highest standards of discipline; where Sakuragi was concerned, there was no telling how far along in the primeval era my world was coming. I had to make sure that he wouldn't be in our room when I went there to pick up my stuff every now and then, and that he had to be asleep once I tiptoed my way to the bed in the middle of the night. Bed then would offer little rest. The next morning would see a gray smoky sky, a raging alarm clock that might as well have jolted anyone to the next life, and a raven-haired freshman jostling his way down the showers in the pre-sunrise episode. To avoid unpleasant encounters, he had to stick to this routine; because once he got in the classroom there was no chance on Earth Sakuragi and Nobunaga would give him peace.

Nobunaga proved serious in his campaign of terror until the day I decided I couldn't care less about his mockery and sabotage attempts anymore. The best form of defense seemed to be indifference, taken one short dose each passing day, until the transgressor himself felt moved to give it up as a bad job. It didn't take long for Nobunaga to realize this, and the more he realized it, the less time he wasted on me, the less I winced at the vulgar sight of him. One day, he just stopped altogether, empathically ignoring me, and went back to pestering Sakuragi with less pronounced hatred than before. In my heart of hearts, I knew he was secretly cursing me at those mad moments he spent alone.

Sakuragi was more subtle in his methods. Having been successfully recruited by the Shohoku Football Team as a starting quarterback, his prize possession was easily that leather football he'd toss in the air whether he was in class, in the field, or in our shared flat. Especially in our flat. He didn't verbalize his abuse but was always careful to drop me a neurotic glare at every turn. I suppose that's what they call the modified silent treatment. To top it all off, that football, that evil pigskin with its sharp twin edges, took the place of the sharp tip of his tongue and did what it had to: to be the weapon of my affliction. In the days when the courses became critical, when the exams were approaching and sleep was scarce, Sakuragi would be there, his energy in full throttle, swatting the plaything all across the room, not a word passing between us. He would aim it a few inches away from my head with an exact measure of vengeance, repeat the process, and would only stop when Akagi-sempai's henchmen squeaked "Lights Out!" at ten p.m. on the dot. He would pull away then, glowering, never tiring, back with vengeance the very next day. How cheap it all was, I had no idea how to begin to describe. If I could only sue this ape for emotional damages, I swear on a stack of bibles I would.

At some point I felt that he felt like giving up. But he never did. I felt too, during these times, that I was near cracking up. My head would wind up in perpetual turmoil, my face would flush, my body would assume a defensive posture, and then a pause. Sakuragi might've known how hard I'd been struggling to control both my emotions and the situation, and took sleazy pleasure in the thought. He would relent for a spell and silence would reign for a few seconds. Later still, the orchestrated disturbance would resume. I would go back to my readings, as dumb as an ostrich sitting on its egg.

For all this, I couldn't help but to blame Miyagi Ryota. The Kanagawa Football Team, an academy sensation during my time and those before me, walked on the holiest of grounds. Going against its members meant trouble and a face-off with one of Kanagawa's fiercest personalities. Though Miyagi Ryota could never be directly responsible for whatever Sakuragi and his fucking football did to me, I could never quite rule Miyagi out of the matter. Because Miyagi Ryota was the captain of the team. Whatever reservations he had regarding Sakuragi dissolved quickly the moment he saw him sprint across the fresh green grass of the Kanagawa Recreation Field, all eighty meters of it covered in what might've been record time. People who were in the try-out would never forget the sparkle in Miyagi's eyes. That day, his dreams came true. That day, he would be forever friends with Sakuragi Hanamichi, whom it was impossible to imagine anyone truthfully liking. And their smiles as they went about the campus arm in arm would testify to that enduring bond. I knew I couldn't let the likes of them drag me down, but seeing them together proved altogether too much. How I wish I could bang their heads hard enough to kick their ass down to the underworld. But I knew I couldn't do that either.

* * *

As a middle-school athlete of track and field, my only recourse was to take it to the high school arena. At Shohoku, each member was to sign up for at least one sports team, once in winter and once in summer. It was hard to tell where my expertise lay, in long jump or in one-hundred-meter dash. For someone who was generally considered as socially challenged, either sport would appear to suit me: none of them required me to participate in teamwork. Feeling compelled to expedite a decision near the end of fall, I settled to put myself down for the count on both events. This turned out to be a convenient choice: other than because it'd keep me all shaped up, it generally meant less time spent inside my room and less potential of rude encounters with Sakuragi. I came to kill time running lap after lap around the field lane in the afternoon till dusk. "Practice hard" literally became my mantra. Few students preferred to leave their dormitories in such times due to the massive drop in temperature, but since I knew I was somewhat built to last through harsh weather I didn't mind risking a cold. I knew, too, that running was the closest to peace I could ever hope to experience.

The monotony in my leisure was interrupted only once; on that afternoon at the beginning of November that promised nothing beyond continuity. I was well on my way to my fifth round when I registered the presence of another sprinter. I heard his footsteps galloping behind me, the sound of rubber tapping on concrete resonated faintly against my ears. Up ahead, a singular shadow was gathering acceleration as if the person who owned it maintained the effort to keep up with my progress. It was swerving past the painted lines in remarkable speed with such ease. I ran in the same pace, not really interested in knowing who the intruder was, my legs steadily sprinting, my breath fading in throes. Nothing would throw me off course when I was running.

"Hey there!" The person's voice called out. I stopped in my tracks and waited for him to catch up. As he drew near me, I realized with some relief that he was no one I knew, or even met on campus. I immediately noticed that his get-up, a thick turtleneck cardigan and matching pants, was a little too snug for the occasion. His well-formed body, however, gave me the impression that he might've been a sort of gym rat. Florid, he grabbed his knees and suspired heavily.

"What is it?" I nearly snapped. If he found anything that sounded irritated in my voice, he didn't bring it up.

"Oh, I'm glad it's you." He wheezed. In a moment, his face broke into a smile. At closer inspection, under the dying sunlight, I could see how well illustrated his features were. He had brownish hair, light eyes, and tiny pouting lips. All in all, he was too pretty to be ever considered handsome. "Fujima Kenji, head of Shoyo Dormitory. Nice to meet you, Rukawa Kaede."

I arched my eyebrows, examining him. Contrary to local custom, he didn't reach out a hand for me to shake. It wasn't the induction proceeding I had in mind; in fact, I didn't have any. A person from another student faction knowing who I was is disturbing enough; another person from another student faction looking this good and knowing me is beyond comprehension. A certain awkwardness pervaded the air and a sort of queasiness, which I felt toward any member of an older group, welled up in me.

"In case you wonder, we haven't met. I just knew you by, let's say, word of mouth. I suppose we have a mutual connection or two, but not more than that. It was a freshman dorm mate who pointed you out to me the other day. I hope you don't mind." Fujima replied. I marked the new tone he adopted, the added texture to it, and the newfangled meaning of intention. This person sought me out from the crowd and probably even stalked me all the way here, where he could monopolize my company. For what purpose, beats me.

"Why?" I asked, becoming apprehensive.

"Why what?"

"Why want to meet me." I croaked and instantly felt like rephrasing my statement. The moment I said it, I read from Fujima's look that he would never want to meet me on account of who I purely was.

"It's nothing like that." True enough, he smiled. He smiled in the lingering, daft, saturated air. "Would you like to head for the bleachers? It shouldn't take a while."

I paused for a moment. I was fairly in the mood for a break then after covering five laps, and since I truly did take breaks within the intervals of five laps, it was no trouble to deal with. Displeasing him wasn't part of my intention either. I followed him to the sheltered side courts, dispelling any thought that might suggest anything dodgy about him. He looked too decent for that kind of thing, I suppose.

"You're the new kid Mitsui's been hanging around with lately, huh?" he faced me then.

"Excuse me?" I said, somewhat startled by the question.

"Mitsui's new favorite. It's gotta be you for this year." He said, possibly stifling a potentially malicious grin. He busted up the next line, seeing that I wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of reacting, "I don't mean to be imposing on you. Not really. I just want to know if the rumors are true."

"I don't know what you're talking about. What's more, I don't care." I retorted. The usual numbness of my expression could've been the one factor to save me but at that moment it wasn't doing me any favor. A hot surge of anger filled my flesh in its stead.

"Hmm, there's the classic denial. I'm sorry. Did I just touch a nerve there?" He smiled again and none of it showed that he was sorry. "I'll cut it straight to the meat, Rukawa-kun: He's not someone to horse around with, and in case you're curious, he hasn't been leading a blameless life either. Sure, you've probably grown fond of each other. It seems that at this rate it's the only explanation anyone can give for your actions. I would, however, wish that you two are less public about it."

"I'm not taking part in this conversation. See you." I grunted this time at his undisguised insult. If it was such a crime to be around Mitsui, wouldn't it be worth getting convicted for, going to jail for?

"Oh yeah." He laughed. "That was too unfair of me, spilling it all out to you without giving you the background. Suffice to say I'm jealous, eh? Too straightforward? What the hell does that matter? I'm jealous and that's the only way I want to put it."

I regarded him with an unconcealed look of disgust, irreverent and fearless. He returned my gaze with what I suspect an equal amount of intensity. Underneath the tender splashes of twilight, his eyes shone with frightening power, like they were tools used to peer through peoples' souls. I felt withdrawn to hold them, as if I would drown beneath his command if I didn't look away. I wouldn't be the first one, nor the last, however: People had died just by looking him straight in the eye, I felt sure. Above everything, he meant what he said.

"It's a basic human right to be attached, Rukawa-kun," he went on and a sarcastic edge to his voice emerged with his words. "I suppose there's still time to learn the trade, especially when it concerns Mitsui. There's a time for everything. But you, well, you seem clueless about pretty much everything that's gone on with that person. He's not exactly hard to like and that goes without saying; my guess is, everyone loves him as much as they truly hate him. If one falls in love with Mitsui Hisashi, he becomes entitled to half the hatred Mitsui himself invites. Two could play at a game, so they say."

I smirked at him. "Seems to be a misplaced attempt to warn me." And that was all I said, and I was ready to turn to my heels all the way Shohoku Dormitory, never wanting to hear more, never wanting to remember. If I cared to read between his lines, I would've probably figured out that what he was in fact trying to communicate to me is how much he hated me. The hatred being the legacy I earned for being with Mitsui Hisashi, nothing more, nothing less. I continued marching, calling it a day to myself, and a damp night ahead beckoned to me.

"I was in love with him, you know." Fujima muttered in the still air. I froze, there on the already icy concrete of an early November evening, thoroughly stunned at the disclosure. The very graveness of his tone hinted nothing but the truth in its barest form and in the darkness, I visibly recoiled. "At times I still fancy myself to be. I don't find myself saying this to you for your own good; whether you get hurt in the end or not is a minor point. I said I'm jealous, I meant it, and I want you to tear yourself away from him."

"Why don't you try?"

"What do you think I'm doing, eh? If you so much as bothered yourself with your own welfare, you'd probably be elsewhere trying to figure him out. Mitsui Hisashi was my lover in middle school and we planned to attend Kanagawa High together once we got to high school. You should be ashamed yourself; if it hadn't been for me, he wouldn't even be on these grounds. Moving on, we were pretty much happy together: we didn't have arguments or any real fight, or maybe we did, one time, over something I can't remember. The thought of growing sick of each other never for once entered my head. I hope it didn't enter his as well. All in all, it was a spanking good time for both of us… What do you think he did after that?"

"He ditched you and now you're bitter. Likely story."

"Right on." He said rather cheerfully. I nearly admired his honesty, courage, false or not, for saying it. "But it wasn't for lack of trying. He didn't just ditch me; he abandoned me. Do you wonder why he's still a junior at his age? He didn't attend our freshman year. While I tormented myself with such cruel thoughts about him in my first year here, he was out in the world practically a free man. He enrolled instead in my sophomore year--last year--as a freshman and didn't want to have anything to do with me from then on. If he skipped that year to escape me, he stubbornly refused to say. All he ever made clear is that we're over."

"Then let it be over." I said, far from bothered, and gave him an uncompromising look of mocking contempt. What made it so hard for me to feel any compassion toward him was the shamelessness with which he brought all these things to light. While he might've been the story's victim, his character resisted any appropriation to that end.

"To be sure, I should; that would be more becoming, wouldn't it? I think I was being weak, in need of confirmation, but that could not be the rest of it." he said silently. A bitterness that was tainting not only his tongue seemed to shrink in him gradually, though it might've been there all along. As I watched him, I recognized the strong scent of love he still nursed for Mitsui, never waning for a second since then. "When I knew he was going to attend Kanagawa I honestly did not know what to feel. If I could at all help it I would nervously avoid him in the corridors and dining halls. It was hard enough to witness his indifference, his forgetfulness, but for him to take another person as a lover, ah, that was more than I could take. I wouldn't deny it if anybody says I hated Sendoh Akira then as I hate you now."

"Sendoh Akira?" I blurted, my composure cracking. I could feel an incessant jarring inside me at the mention of the name. Whatever hand Sendoh Akira might've had in all of this would only certainly serve as oil to the already raging flame. Along with that I marked the growth in my interest.

"Uh-huh. He and Mitsui had been knocking around for ages when I learned about it. They seemed to effect the notion that they were merely drinking partners in crime, the dynamic duo who thrive in places where drinks flow, but anyone who's ready to buy that was either a cow or a moron. I conjecture they met in the classroom in their freshman year and got fiercely infatuated with each other right away. It would make sense if you see it that way." Fujima let out a long, labored breath. "All along, I'd been nothing but a fool trailing after him, thinking that he would come back, that he loved me too much for things to just end up that way. As such, all his lovers are bound to think that way. _You_, for one, would be conditioned to think that way, because you're just starting out."

If I scowled out him, he either just scoffed it off or else didn't notice it. The sky had turned impudently dark, double-glazed in perfectly gray clouds and replete with the mortifying Halloween ambience of owls hooting in the nearby wilderness. Flecks of snow gradually traced their way downward to the naked earth; an alien coldness made my flesh creep, searing, widening, making itself known and felt. Winter had cautiously landed on Kanagawa. I suffered in silence. In my mind, I could've been in as much pain as Fujima was.

"I suppose you're thinking we have similar needs, but that's hardly it: I knew Mitsui since we were young, way younger than you are now. The relationship we had, the precious aspect of it, is disturbingly simple and clichéd: a friendship growing into love. Having told myself that over and over again, I thought there was enough security to leave me with. I was wrong to see it as something that's immune to corruption or otherwise disappearance, of course. Even then, as you can see, he gave me up. I only had to look at their faces then to know that I was done for. Sure, I knew they spent nights together early on in their romance and it consequently sent me to pieces. I could rush headlong to suicide and Mitsui wouldn't pay any respects in my funeral. Sure, he could be cruel at times. And now he's doing to Sendoh what he did to me."

"I'm sorry." I caught myself saying it before I could even brace myself for reality. The pity I felt for him, apart from sudden, was authentic, unprecedented, and unsolicited. I knew I shouldn't have said it or felt it even, but once again, was I ever in the position to keep it all to myself? I discovered and basked in that pitiable streak in him, felt pity, and that was that.

"Why should you be?" he glared at me then, reading the stealthy thoughts that ran steadily through my head. "No one's ever sorry for being with Mitsui; one only has to see what's slated to come. Mitsui left me independent of Sendoh Akira. And now he's leaving the hedgehog, probably for you, probably because he felt like it. It's essentially the same story, you see; that's the only crux of the matter. The trick is plainly to know how and when to pick up the cue. I didn't see it coming, I doubt if that Ryonan bitch did. But would you?"

I kept quiet, knowing that a sane answer wasn't forthcoming. I thought about all of us: I pictured Mitsui along the banks of Asai Lake, the same silent sadness that tears people apart gaining dominion all over him. I saw Sendoh Akira wearing his disarming smile, entrancing people, making himself special. I watched Fujima Kenji embracing his own pain with the sketchiest of success, cursing the loss that scarred him for life. I imagined myself a complete miscast, fighting for space in all three slides, and never reaching any resolution. Sometimes, how beautiful a person is is seldom what we imagine its values to be. With Mitsui Hisashi, his beauty lay in the thought he conjured in others: that he would vanish in fragility the moment we gain access to his innermost, truest form. Up to now, I would think about him in this manner and feel a wave of longing I wish I wouldn't. In my most vulnerable moments, I would realize he never quite left me, or I never quite let go of him, of what I thought was him.

"Well, should I take that as a 'no'?" Fujima smiled again after the long silence. "My own ending is this: He'll ditch you and forget about you soon as he turns his back on you. There's something about him that never fails to let down a lover. He isn't much, but that's precisely what bothers me about myself, why I'm still induced to feel this way, to be mad about him. We're probably just the same desperate people on his list. Like what he felt for me, what he has for you is going to switch off anytime, someday, next week, later tonight. Who knows? We can bet—"

Fujima Kenji would never finish his sentence. He would never cross a line with me once after that incident. And fate would be henceforward disposed to leave each of us to our own devices. In the heat of his tirade, I smacked him across the face with all that was left of my strength. The effort, looking back, was done without any daze of rage, though it made it hard for me to breathe afterward. The silence would persist long after he collapsed on his knees, vexed, hurt, face slightly contorted but not wavering. He only needed a short while to gather himself up gracefully, not needing my support which I wasn't inclined to offer in any case, and felt his endeavor accomplished. Having done thus, he gave me the once-over and left me wrapped in the steely repose of night.

That night I got back to my dormitory as fast as my limp legs and intoxicated mind could take me. The white part of the sky had dispersed into total darkness. I don't remember how and when I crept into my bed, but in my one and a half month tenure in Shohoku Dormitory, I hadn't slept quite as soundly. Alone, something died and left my body, or else it decayed and melted to nothing. Where it used to be, what it used to do to me, I wouldn't have any idea for a long time. All I was aware of is, it couldn't have been my strengthening desire, or my yearning, for Mitsui Hisashi.

TBC

A/N: Totally hated writing this chapter. Gah.


	6. Chapter 6

Retracing the Shorelines

Disclaimer: I don't own SD boys, Inoue does. The events that follow are not included in the original plot but enjoy anyway.

* * *

** Chapter V: Misery Loves Company**

I was absolutely 100% certain in the knowledge that Akira Sendoh would one day just venture into my room and demand a full fun-filled hour from me. Thanks to Fujima, the little information he gave about Sendoh made the prospect of seeing him again far more dreaded than ever before. Sure, I had the privilege to forget about the invitation; what with all the other things I had to incessantly worry about, it was pretty reasonable to miss some of them. I was sure "forgetting" would be of no consequence. Such as it was, I prepared the self-same excuse should Sendoh Akira wander his way into my flat and demand that dreaded, full, fun-filled hour from me.

"Have you gone to Sendoh-sempai's?" Ironically enough, Aida enquired of me one serene morning at homeroom time.

"No."

"Why? I mean, he's okay, right? W-why…"he stammered and it looked as though something in his damn stupid heart was going to break.

"Don't feel like it."

"How come you don't feel like it?" insisted the little faggot. By this time, I was sure something did break inside him.

I just cocked my head slightly to show how much I didn't really care. The message was quite enough: A nail dug deep into his heart.

"I told you he'd be expecting you. He's been asking me about your schedule."Aida said ruefully and his eyes were moistening like the pavement after some fair amount of drizzle.

I huffed, instead of vocalizing what I had in mind, "I don't feel like whoring myself to that whore." As a matter fact, I could count with the fingers of a mutilated hand the reasons why any person in his right mind would like to see Sendoh. Why would I want to gratify a moron I didn't respect, or had anything in common with in the first place? He was damn fanciable, face-wise, but considering the relation he had with Mitsui, and the one I had with Mitsui, what would be the point? Whatever scant motivation I might've had for another meeting with him had long since vanished, too far gone, too far out. I let Aida's confusion eat him up in his seat until nothing was left of him but the mumbling whiny shithead that he was. As for me, my mind was pretty much made up.

By this time I had been a frequent guest at Mitsui's place. Fujima's theories in fact weren't unfounded: After the episode Mitsui and I had by Asai Lake, it was pretty hard not to put a sequel to it. People at Kanagawa might've taken notice but said nothing to us, though I doubt if they would be above saying something about it behind our backs.

Even so, not everything went smoothly inside me. The state of affairs was more complex than anything else I had yet confronted. Sendoh Akira had entered the picture, and some historical perspective seemed to have been added to the whole concoction that involved me and Mitsui. It would be weird enough to know that I'd been spending far too much time with Mitsui now; unthinkable that Mitsui's former lover (or was Sendoh ever?) had taken a certain measure of interest in me. By accidental realization, I knew what had to be done. Only it wasn't bound to be that simple.

"Still feuding with your batch mates?" Mitsui smiled at me as he nestled himself in his sparkling sofa bed. It was nearing midnight then and pretty soon I would have no business to hang around longer. Even then, Mitsui would forever extend his courtesy, offering me a comfortable shelter in his glorious suite for the night.

"As usual."

"That's tragic. Honestly, I marvel at your heroism---if it isn't exactly martyrdom---,enduring hours with Sakuragi and those other brutes. Don't you ever find it wearisome? How do you do it?"

"A man down on his luck has to."

He giggled and the air became beset with as much tension as glee. Each time he plunged into his usual fit of relentless laughter, I would wonder if he was ever aware of the impression he was making. People fell in love with that laughter, and the face that emitted it, without honestly meaning to. He had such a flair for sweeping the senses out of you that at one smile, you become lost. That feeling, I suppose, persists up to now.

"You have such an admirable temper, Rukawa. I've always told you, right? If you can't take the atmosphere in your classroom you can always jump in here. I can give you a spare key, if you want."

"I'm alright."

"That's what I always get from you. You're alright, when they're giving you so much to bleat about. You're alright, when they're doing everything to you but cutting you some slack. Okay. I'm not going to argue with you. I would, however, suggest that you don't let your youth pass without honor. Don't let yourself rot with those morons."

I grinned, something I was only capable of when I was around him. I think he didn't have any idea that I was getting as much education from him as from the likes of Sakuragi and Nobunaga. As for honor, there was something suspicious about how he actually interpreted it. Only that, with him, I felt infinitely more righteous.

"Would you like some more?" He said after a while, nodding at the bottle of brandy on the coffee table next to him.

"Yes, please." I filled my glass at his instigation. The liquid that coursed through the passage in my throat was warm and appreciated. I let out a low breath after wiping my lips dry.

"You're getting better at booze." Mitsui observed. His glass, probably in its fourth round, was gently hammering against the back of his seat, its contents twinkling. Drinking was something he'd been doing long before I got acquainted with all of this. The very mastery with which he went about it pretty much covered all. True, old habits die hard.

"Thanks to you." I said as I became conscious of my purpose: I consigned myself to a long visit to Mitsui that day to find out about his standing with Sendoh and if ever, clarify Fujima's allegations. I swallowed hard as I mounted myself for the million dollar question. "Sempai—"

Something clicked behind us. The golden doorknob turned briskly as a tall, spiky-haired person materialized at the threshold. His reaction was instantly mingled with apology and glee. In a minute he was flashing his wide, white smile to us. Part of me steadfastly refused to return that smile, part of me wrestled with the urgency of one matter-of-life-and-death question: What the hell was Sendoh Akira doing at Mitsui's doorway at eleven o'clock in the evening?

"Hi Sashi. Good evening, Rukawa." He said casually.

"Oh, if it isn't the absentee celebrity. I thought you already forgot where I live." Mitsui said in a voice full of blithe and life that I almost crushed the wineglass resting in my clutch.

"Is that ever possible?" Sendoh smiled at Mitsui and put something back in his pocket. The shiny streak to it left no room for mistakes: a key. The fucking hedgehog has his own key to Mitsui's flat? Just where in sweet hell is the world driving at? I thought. The only thing that stopped me from glaring questioningly at Mitsui was pride. My dangerously dangling pride.

"I hope not." Mitsui giggled. "Anyhow, would you stay for a drink? I see you've met Rukawa-kun here. A threesome binge shouldn't be that much."

"No can do, Sashi. I have some really serious training to go over with Taoka-san first thing tomorrow. Hope you wouldn't take it the wrong way." Sendoh explained and a regretful expression crossed his face. "Can I borrow your pajamas? Somebody played a prank on my closet and left a 'DIE, porcupine!' note in my PJ's stead. Must've been written in squirrel's blood. Hilarious."

"How horrible! Who could've ever…?"

"I have a number of hunches but don't let it distress you. It's okay." Sendoh assured Mitsui, but I knew it was the kind of "okay" I gave Mitsui earlier. Later, it would become clear that Nobunaga's henchmen were the culprit behind it. Hard not to put them past foul play for an overdue Halloween greeting, to be honest.

Mitsui scowled in disgust as I made a mental note of the concern in the way he handled the news. In a while Sendoh was rummaging through his regal closet. He did it so comfortably that it was hard to tell if he really boarded elsewhere. He found a blue set of night clothes, which he thought fit him, and turned all of a sudden menacingly to Mitsui,

"You weren't in Christian Social Living class earlier. Do you have the slightest notion what I had to go through, Hisashi? Some morbid tale in the New Testament! Honestly, do these people want Jesus that much in their lives?" Sendoh complained in a voice that was becoming impatient and frustrated. Somehow, as I understood it, he seemed more angry at the fact that Mitsui didn't accompany him during the bitter ordeal he just went under.

"I told you, if you can't stomach the atmosphere in the classroom, you're free to seek sanctuary here." Mitsui told him.

"Well, for a change I'd like to know what it feels to be responsible."

"Whatever floats your boat, mate. As for me, I feel like graduating from all this shit already," Mitsui said and went on, "through shortcut." That seemed to stroke a funny bone and they laughed together, harmoniously.

I was silent throughout the exchange. I don't know what happened to my speech box that time but it did feel like something ripped the spine off of me. My own words boxed my ears in shattering, weakening buzzes. Questions floated as invisible waves around me. My heart rattled; something in my soul wanted to just disappear or otherwise wished I didn't exist at all, not in this perplexing world. Outside, midnight landed ominously on the ground, beckoning a new day; in Mitsui's room, a sort of tension grew and stiffened everything it touched on. A phantom desire to hurt Sendoh, to spite him, overwhelmed me, reasons escaping…

_What were they anyway? I thought they were through? Sure they are friendly, but that's open to speculation, and if I stay quiet… no. god knows that adds up to nothing. Behind the elaborate veil of friendship, something altogether different brews, something based on what they used to share, something I cannot touch._

A blown fuse, that's what I felt like.

"Well, I should be going. Good night, Sashi." Sendoh said to Mitsui and then, unexpectedly, rounded on me squarely, "I think you owe me a drink or two. I'm starting to get lonely that you've forgotten all about it." unless I misread it, he winked at me. The honesty in his voice, the absence of malice in it, nearly made me reassess his offer. But in front of Mitsui, how would I handle such a thing, or even halfway reason with it? Before I knew it, he was looking at me with the same bewildered look I just gave Sendoh.

"You've met him. How?" Mitsui asked as soon as Sendoh bustled out of the room, his curiosity rearing its head. Maybe something else tinged that voice but my nerves were all too tattered to identify it amid my jumbled emotions.

In a few moments, I was recounting the incident in my classroom to him with all the animation I could muster. It was sure hard to do with a shaky flesh. Mitsui shook his head after I finished my narration.

"Personally, I would advise you against it. Sendoh is so charming you'd soon forget about someone like me. No, I wouldn't have that on god's green earth…" his eyes sank farther into the imaginary distance. "I would soon be nothing to you."

"Not to me, you wouldn't be."I affirmed. Something in what he said, possibly the sad ring he lent it, bothered me. I only watched him.

"Well, who knows what Mr. Sweetness and Light could do?" This time I felt like he was growing to believe his own false premonition and so no escape to whatever dilemma he thought was clasping him.

"If you want me to avoid him, I would, Mitsui-sempai."

He let out a weak laugh. "Don't be docile. Chances are far and between. Akira is… He's not a villain, really. He's really—It's not going to work. There's no use fighting it."

Feeling but not comprehending his frustration, I crawled toward him. I could catch a whiff of alcohol emitting from my own lungs. I wanted to hold him, the way I did back there by the lake, but the tired look on his face pretty much told its own story. I'd seen that look before, from my mom's face, my dad's, and most of all from the faces of my teachers after a dazzling F graced my report cards. The look of desperate defeat. I immediately changed my mind and scoured back to my seat then, not wanting to amplify his disconcertion. How could he ever expect me to fall for Sendoh while he's around? I asked myself again and again. That love I had for him then was beyond any intensity I could've conceived of, a blind love that wasn't the less for it. So why could he ever think I'd fall for Sendoh and leave him?

"Let's call it a night, Kaede."

"Good night, sempai."

Those words were the last ones I said to him that night, though in my head I spoke a thousand more to him. I left him then, without any answer to any of the questions I should be demanding from him. What Sendoh was to him, and vice versa, remained irritatingly fogged in mystery. Prone in solitude, I knew then that it was no other than courage that left me that night when I gave Fujima a piece of my knuckle. He would be the first one to taste my violence, but he wouldn't be the last. My courage would dwindle along with the energy I handed over with that punch. But unlike that energy, the courage I lost would never be restored.

* * *

Kogure Kiminobu made me sit in a stool so squat and sturdy it was impossible to continue looking at it, let alone perch on it. The room he deposited me in was elegantly furnished, minimal in its interior design, and as polished as the shiny specs that perpetually adorned his pleasant face. One look at it and I knew Kogure-sempai was nuts about white and clean things alike. The look he gave me, as I recollect it, was hard to read, but something in the manner in which I was suddenly called to his office could have only spelled trouble. The space in which we moved was as dead as the afternoon outside.

"Would you like anything, Rukawa?"he asked me as he fixed himself in one of the similar stools he forced me in. Something, I just felt it, wasn't quite right with the slight way he regarded me.

"None, sempai."

"Alright, then." He breathed and it seemed as though it was a kind of labor for him. "I should say that by now we should've dispensed with all the formalities. After spending nearly two months in Kanagawa I assume you already know all the campus rules, Rukawa?"

"More or less." I lied.

"You do know what happens to, er, our loose cannons?"

"Detention, I guess."

"Uh-huh. In Kanagawa High we don't give people a hard time just because they're different. What we do is welcome them as if they were our own. That way life for them can become somehow more socially rewarding. I understand you've been having a tough time coping up lately and we're honestly all rooting for your successful adjustment. It's not uncommon that other students have differences, disagreements if you will. But for behaviors unwarranted by the law, there will punishments beyond detention. Do you understand, Rukawa-kun?"

"Yes, sempai."

"I see. That's good then; this shouldn't be that hard." Kogure-sempai's voice rose hollowly, the usual warmth in it recognizable only by its absence. "I have received an unpleasant report from the Shoyo Dormitory: It appears to be a complaint filed by their head, Fujima Kenji. Rukawa, is it true that you hit him?"

I glanced at him with a quickness that could only come from shock. It had been two days since I hit the idiot. But I was dafter than he was if I expected that he would just put it all behind us like that.

"Yes, sempai." I conceded and the sound I made seemed to scorch my throat raw. How could I ever expect to get away with murder at all? At Kanagawa High for Christ's sake?

Kogure-sempai sighed heftily. An evident panic that didn't seem to outstrip his poise took over him, as if he didn't prepare for this alternate reality. "I never would've believed it in a thousand years… I mean, with Sakuragi I could; but you, Rukawa… You always seemed so peaceful." He gave me an awkward-ish, surely confused smile then. However much he hated to accept it, I could tell he lacked the hostility to feel any disgust toward me. I doubt if he felt any genuine disgust toward anyone anyway.

"I'm sorry, sempai… he provoked me." I reasoned but it only came out as a freaky slur. Even then I wasn't sure if Fujima did intend to provoke me. I began losing ground.

"And so it would seem." He muttered quietly. I waited for a sort of resentment to wash over his face, but it didn't come. "There are things that should be done about this, surely. Let's see and weigh our options."

Something struck me then. A terrible thought fumbling its way to my brain and crashing loud with snap, stringing me along with its force, "Kogure-sempai, does Akagi-sempai know?" because if he did, I sure am history.

"No, Rukawa. Not yet." Kogure-sempai let out a nervous laugh. "Well, the good side about Akagi knowing it is it's pretty much the worst that can happen. If you ask me, I'd be very willing to avoid that."

I felt a wave of gratitude taking hold all over me. At the same time, a pang of guilt made itself felt inside. "Kogure-sempai, I'm sorry. If Fujima-san wants to decide on a punishment, I'll just take it."

"Well, that's the problem. Fujima-kun, to put it simply, wants to have you disqualified for the upcoming winter games. On that subject, we're going to need the approval—so to speak—of the head of the dorm. If Akagi is on your side he might want to bring up an appeal to the higher order but if not, well, Fujima-kun would have it his way. I just want you to know that I'm on your side, though." he smiled pitiably at me. "You drew first blood, Rukawa. We must face its consequences."

I became pensive for a moment. The winter games were less than a month away and there I was knocked out of sorts, all my hard work brought to nothing, buried along with my long-dead self-esteem. That competition might as well be the one agent that would make me see the beauty of high school life, but there I was instead struggling to bite the real bullet: I blew up my chance to prove myself worthy of anything. How was that for a start?

"I… I don't know what to do." I grumbled after what seemed like minutes.

"Actually, now that I think about it, we can do something." Kogure-sempai said out of reverie and lightened up. Something brilliant was tugging at his senses; in a split second, he was smiling. "Fujima-kun is a family friend. Our fathers were best friends when they attended this academy together. Oh, and incidentally, _his_ father is my godfather. Wow, I just realized it. If I pleaded with Fujima-kun he might go and see reason. Or commute the sentence at the very least."

"You will do that?" I said, incredulous at my newfound fortune.

"Well, no harm in trying, is there? Besides, it's for Shohoku." Kogure replied heartily. I didn't speak but I knew he knew how thankful I felt. Somehow, too, I knew, in his reliable and ingenious nature, that he held the key inside.

In his true protector fashion, Kogure-sempai did manage to pry the scandal away from Akagi's ears. More than that, the business was hushed solely to his credit. He preferred to let on that Fujima had been civil to him, though he wouldn't reveal what the Shoyo head had to say about me, and only told me the latter's reduced conditions. My punishment therefore was a ten-hour detention at the school's kitchen, which students falsely attributed to my sleeping shamelessly during class hours. If they seemed to hint that Sakuragi's trouble deserved four times as much, they pretty much kept it low. I learned to confide in Kogure-sempai starting on that day and possibly because of this my days in Kanagawa started to resemble hell less and less. Having been never allowed to grow up normally at home, with all holds barred, I learned how to be more open to people. There were times when I thought that Kogure-sempai had led me high enough up the ladder and was not going to take me one more step up, but he would always be there to fulfill that unsolicited role, and pull me out of trouble. It was something I knew I would never be able to repay.

This, I guess, is partly the reason why tears threaten to fall at the sight of the now-dilapidated Shohoku Dormitory. I'd like to go on looking at it, recalling everything—good, bad, pointless--but it brings so much back to me, so much that I can't quite bear to look longer.

TBC


End file.
